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February 15th

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When the waitress asked if they wanted a booth or a table, Harry turned to look at him with raised eyebrows, allowing him to pick.

"Booth," he blurted, silently working to smooth his ruffled feathers.

Though they both had taken the time in the loo to dry their clothes and shoes, Harry evidently thought damp hair was okay, and kept pushing it out of his eyes to stick to his forehead in dark swirls. The Auror nodded as if to approve of his choice before gesturing that Draco follow her first. Throwing him what he hoped was an inscrutable raised eyebrow, Draco slipped his hands in his coat pockets to appear nonchalant and strode after the girl in black skintight pants and a t-shirt emblazoned with the café's logo and name.

He took the far side of the booth, hanging his jacket up primly on the rack that looked little used at the end of the seat, wishing he was able to shrink the umbrella to go in the pocket. When he was settled, the sleeves of his sweater pulled up just enough over his wrists for free movement but not enough to show the bottom of his Dark Mark scar, he watched as Harry ordered tea for the two of them.

"Presumptuous, Potter," Draco commented dully, grabbing one of the plastic lined menus from behind the salt and pepper rack.

Harry didn't answer, except for a throaty chuckle that made the hair on Draco's arms stand on end.

The two men perused the options, though both knew the other had been to this restaurant enough to know their favorites. One of them hid behind the tattered menu while the other folded his hands on top of the paper placemat.

"Do you need my glasses?" drifted over the top of the picture of an enticing rocket sandwich that would not come out looking like the image at all.

Draco pulled his cover down just enough to give Potter a confused glare. As he watched the man, relaxed enough to put one arm up on the back of his seat and cross his legs beneath the table, Harry motioned lazily at the menu three inches from Draco's face.

"You're holding that awfully close to your face. Either you need glasses or you're hiding from me."

"Am not!" Draco automatically said, slamming the menu down onto the plastic tabletop. A few people in the tables and booths next to them stopped talking or eating to gawk at the two men. Glaring at them all until they looked away, even the three year old toddler who stuck out his tongue before going back to his mushy peas, Draco smoothed his hands over the top of the battered plastic. His voice was much quieter as he hissed, "I am not hiding."

Throughout it all, Harry was annoyingly unruffled for Draco's taste. The waitress returned as the Auror opened his mouth to make a comment, and he again motioned for Draco to make the first move, and he ordered their caprese in a practiced cadence before Harry asked for the turkey club, extra arugula, with the same tone only regulars can carry.

The tea was delicious. Draco focused solely on that, and not the way the edges of Harry's glasses fogged while his hair slowly dried. Certainly, he wasn't watching his hands as they deftly undid the napkin around his silverware and unfolded it over one knee.

"Are you a vegetarian?"

The question startled him enough to answer honestly, breaking his focus on the clean, though slightly bitten, nails on the hands he was definitely watching, . "Not really."

Harry's lips turned down into a discouraged moue. "The caprese sandwich...I thought, that. Er...you still play Quidditch?"

"Broom was confiscated," Draco replied, trying for nonchalance and landing on bitter. "Haven't purchased a new one yet. I hope they donated my Nimbus to Hogwarts, at least. The brooms they expect first years to learn on are atrocious."

"I've not flown in a while, myself, but Ginny asked me if I wanted to run drills with her while the Harpies are on break for a few weeks."

"Is that so?"

"You're welcome along, if you'd like. Got a spare broom you could ride."

Draco choked on the tea he was sipping after his snippy comment. Harry was quick to lean over their small table to hit his back a few times to clear his airways, and bit his lip to keep from laughing. The same customers who'd turned to look when Draco slammed the menu down this time looked on in concern, but he waved his hand to redirect their attention once more.

"Spare broom? Potter what game are you...what are we even doing here," Draco spluttered as he wiped his mouth, a few lingering coughs interrupting his hushed questions.

"We're having a lunch date, Malfoy." Harry said as he returned to his seat, finding a spot on the cushions that was the least lumpy. "Thought that was obvious."

Right on cue, before Draco could barb Harry again, their plates of food appeared on the arms of their waitress. After requesting more napkins and tea, she was gone again, leaving the two without the distraction Draco craved, so he focused intently on his sandwich and crisps. Halfway through eating their sandwiches, Draco paused while cutting another bite from his. Knife and fork still poised in his hands, he looked up at Harry whose elbows were on the table, the sandwich held in both hands, and a small drop of sauce one corner of his lips.

Harry chewed slowly, savoring each bite of his sandwich in unhurried happiness, and raised his eyebrows at Draco who realized he was staring again. The words he wanted to ask were choked at the top of his throat and he couldn't take another bite until he'd asked. He took a deep breath and looked at Harry with a stern expression.

"You'd have to promise not to whine when I beat you at Seeker's Doubles," Draco said, looking back down at his knife moving steadily back and forth over the ciabatta.

"Seeker's Doubles?" Harry parroted, after he'd swallowed. "You're out of your mind if you think you'd beat me."

Draco's shoulders relaxed at the return to their status quo, and he finished his own bite of food before replying, acting as though Harry hadn't said a word. "You'll need to practice, though, Potter. I won't stand for excuses after I've solidly trounced you."

"You're on, you git," Harry said, throwing a single crisp at Draco, that bounced off his chest onto the blond's plate.

As he picked up the crisp, the salt beneath Draco's fingers reminding him how sweaty his palms were, he put it in his mouth with a defiant crunch.

"Same for you, you know," Harry continued. He wiped his hands on the napkin in his lap, only a few bites of their meals remaining on their plates. "Practicing. If you're free on Saturday night, the Quidditch Pitch at the Ministry is open. No one really uses it on the weekends, and Mungo's completed all their physical fitness tests of the players down there two weeks ago."

He purposefully hesitated, and furrowed his brow, counting the appropriate number of seconds to imply he was internally checking his schedule, before he answered, "I could be free on Saturday."

Draco looked up and tipped his mouth in a small grin before wiping his mouth with his napkin and folding it on top of his empty plate. Harry, whose hair was completely dried now, grinned back at him while the sun broke through the clouds outside to shimmer on the foggy windows.

Damn that grin, Draco thought to himself as Harry insisted on paying. I am in trouble.